


Trouble's Brewing

by AmandaRex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-19
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaRex/pseuds/AmandaRex
Summary: Ron and Hermione, years after the final battle, are married. Shouldn't everything be perfect? Well maybe, just maybe, a potion (but not any potion, mind you) could spice things up a bit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

"What's the matter, Hermione?" Ginny asked. She'd just spotted, for the third time, her friend staring quietly into the distance instead of looking at the dress robes she held in her hands.  
  
Hermione started and quickly hung up the dress robes, shaking her head a little as she protested, "Nothing ... nothing's the matter, really."  
  
"Hermione," Ginny said, utterly exasperated. "You keep going quiet. While I'd believe that was natural behavior of yours if we were sitting by the fire reading, we're in a robes shop. You should have insisted that Madame Malkin has it in for you at least twice and that you'll look rubbish in everything here at least three times by now."  
  
"Really, it's noth—"  
  
"Those were _orange_ dress robes you were holding, Hermione. Orange. Or did you not even notice? I've never seen you wear a stitch of orange in your life unless it was borrowed from Ron and said 'Cannons' on it. Are you telling me you've suddenly decided you want to look like a washed-out ghost for your fifth anniversary party?"  
  
Hermione looked down at her shoes, apparently defeated. "We'll talk about it, all right? Just not here."  
  
Ginny's eyes widened. This _had_ to be good if it wasn't something two witches could discuss in hushed tones in the back of a robes shop.  
  
"Well, you're not going to find anything right now, not in this state. Let's go!" Ginny said, tugging on Hermione's arm and pulling her out of the shop to a place where they could Apparate back to Ginny and Harry's flat. It had been awhile since anything interesting had happened and Ginny was intrigued.  
  
Hermione reappeared, turning to see Ginny land behind her, a bit ungainly in her haste.  
  
They stood there for a moment, an odd silence filling the room, until Ginny decided to do something about it.  
  
"Have a seat, Hermione. No need to stand on ceremony, as you've been here a thousand times."  
  
Hermione sat, a trifle stiffly, in the closest chair, then slumped uncharacteristically backward and covered her eyes with her hands.  
  
"I really shouldn't make too much of it. Honestly, it's nothing. I'm overreacting."  
  
"To _what_?" Ginny said, exasperated.  
  
"Well, I'm not sure you'll want to talk about it, actually. Not that I have anyone else I'd talk to about this, mind you, but it _is_ about your brother."  
  
"I can forget about that long enough to help. Please, I really want to. Just look at you, Hermione, I really should have noticed before. Your bottom lip's practically bitten through. You really should find another way to relieve your stress."  
  
Hermione's hand flew self-consciously to her lips, then returned to cover her eye as she let out a loud sigh.  
  
"It's just so embarrassing," Hermione protested, and Ginny knew she nearly had Hermione worn down.  
  
"No, it's not. Whatever it is, if I can help, you'll be better off than you are now. Just tell me exactly what sort of a prat my brother is being and I'll tell you how to handle him."  
  
"It's not him ... well, it is a bit. It's both of us. Or—I don't know. It might be me. Perhaps I'm the problem."  
  
"Hermione," Ginny said, realizing how much she sounded like Harry, the way he used to say Hermione's name back at school when she wouldn't let him alone about one thing or another. "Just tell me what it is."  
  
"He's—he's not attracted to me any longer," Hermione said, the words rushing together in a way that redefined haste.  
  
Ginny laughed, conjuring up an image in her mind's eye of the way Ron had looked at Hermione for nearly as long as Ginny could remember. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't appear to see the humor in this the same way Ginny did, as it earned her an indignant look.  
  
"It's not funny," Hermione sniffed, and the first tiny, perfectly formed tear slipped down her cheek.  
  
"Oh, bugger," Ginny said. "Really, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's just that it's so patently ridiculous that it's funny, that's all."  
  
"You're not there," Hermione said, quietly. "You just don't know."  
  
"No, I'm _not_ there," Ginny said, mentally adding a _thank Merlin_. "But I have eyes. My brother still looks at you the way he used to look at Chocolate Frogs when he was twelve."  
  
"Well, I—it doesn't always show."  
  
"Five years, Hermione. Things are bound to change a little. I'll bet you it doesn't trouble Ron a bit."  
  
"Oh, I know it's natural for things to change. I've done a bit of reading—"  
  
"No, really?" Ginny interrupted with mock surprise. "You? A bit of reading?"  
  
"Oh, shut it," Hermione said, the hint of a smile appearing on her face.  
  
"Hermione, I'm shocked. I would never have expected such language from you," Ginny said, then dissolved into giggles. She was highly relieved when she realized Hermione had joined her.  
  
"Really, it's not funny," Hermione said, still smiling a little. "But I appreciate you trying to cheer me up."  
  
"Just tell me what it is. Is Ron—erm ... is he having trouble with his—"  
  
"No! No," Hermione protested. "He's—perfectly functional. Really, Ginny."  
  
"If you won't say, you leave me no choice but to guess."  
  
Hermione fully buried her face in her hands and said something, but it was terribly muffled against her palms and the thick sweater she wore.  
  
"He _swore_? What?"  
  
Hermione lifted her head just enough for her voice to be discernible, then whispered, "He's bored."  
  
"He's bored? Did he tell you that? Really, what an absolute prat!" Ginny said, her temper quickly coming to the boil. "It takes two, you know. Why should it be your fault?"  
  
"I didn't say it was my fault, Ginny. He hasn't said anything, honestly. Please calm down. It's not just him. It's both of us. Things just aren't right and I'm just, well, troubled by it."  
  
Ginny realized she'd stood up in her rage and was pacing and immediately saw a much more effective way to help Hermione. She crossed the room and sat on the ottoman in front of Hermione's chair, knowing this would be an uncomfortable conversation for her and sensing she would need some support to get through it.  
  
"So, lingerie? Strip teases? A little Firewhiskey? A different position? Read some racy poetry to each other?" Ginny suggested, rapid-fire style, in an attempt to disarm Hermione's natural aversion to discussing this particular topic.  
  
"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalized, her cheeks pink.  
  
"You've been married for nearly five years. Surely you know we've all worked out that you're not a couple of virgins."  
  
"This is why, isn't it?" Hermione said, a trifle tearfully. "Because I'm a—a—"  
  
"Whatever you're about to end that sentence with, Hermione, don't. Ron loves you and he married you. He wants you to be you," Ginny said, patting Hermione's hand sympathetically. "Now, that isn't to say that the old boy wouldn't benefit from a bit of a shock from you, from time to time."  
  
"I used to do that, we both did. Then, I don't know. We just stopped. We got comfortable. Now I'd feel ridiculous trying something like that. After all this time, I just don't know if I could saunter into our bedroom with his dirty socks on the floor and just start taking my clothes off."  
  
"So, don't start with that one. Start with something else. Something you're good at, something that makes you feel confident. Or ask him to do something. It's not as though he's exempt."  
  
"Do something that makes me feel confident?" Hermione said, laughing a little. "I don't think Ron would ... enjoy himself ... more while I was reading a book. As far as everyone's concerned, that's all I'm good for."  
  
"Rubbish, Hermione. That's absolute rubbish. Who was there by Harry's side all that time, all those adventures, all those times you risked your life for him? You're daring. You're a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, Hermione. So you're brave and you're smart. What can you do when you put those two together?"  
  
"I don't know," Hermione said, worrying her hands together.  
  
"Think back. Think about all those things you did to help Harry. If you can risk your life, or worse, break the Hogwarts rules," Ginny said with a smirk, smiling wider when she saw Hermione smile as well, "then you can seduce a prat like my brother. And I'll bet you he seduces you right back!"  
  
"I just—"  
  
"Forget your reservations just for a moment. Pretend it's a N.E.W.T. exam and you won't pass if you don't give the right answer, all right?"  
  
"The right answer to what que—"  
  
"The last time you were together and it felt really good, did you fantasize about anything? Or did Ron seem to ... want anything? Did he say anything? Goodness knows he can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. He must have said something that sounded good to you as well."  
  
The blush on Hermione's cheeks turned a tomato red as her mouth puckered, fish-like, in her shock.  
  
"Remember, Hermione. N.E.W.T. exam. Let's hear the answer the cleverest witch of the age is capable of."  
  
"Sometimes, he ... talks. While we ... you know."  
  
Ginny shuddered. She knew she'd asked for these details, but she might have to ask Harry to Obliviate her later.  
  
"That's it, then. Think up a few things, research it and memorize them if you have to, and talk dirty to him. Then he'll do it back, and ... " Ginny trailed off, giving Hermione a deliberately comedic waggling of her eyebrows.  
  
"Don't you think I've tried that?" Hermione cried. "I'm rubbish at it."  
  
"Just pretend you're someone else, Hermione. You have to get out of your own head."  
  
Hermione got that faraway look, the one that usually came before one of her more brilliant brain waves. "Thank you, Ginny. I know just what to do. And I expect both Ron and I will _both_ get quite a bit out of it." She blushed and the two of them giggled conspiratorially like schoolgirls, utterly forgetting they'd set out to buy new dress robes that afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione smiled in nervous anticipation as she awoke one lovely spring morning nearly a month after her shopping trip with Ginny. It had been utter agony waiting all this time, but purchasing lacewing flies that were pre-stewed just seemed like a complete giveaway. Stewing them herself had cost her three weeks, but it seemed a small price to pay for a measure of privacy.  
  
In fact, she hadn't purchased more than one of the ingredients for her little ... project ... at the same shop. The lacewing flies were bought in Hogsmeade and the leeches and bicorn horn were from two different shops in Diagon Alley. The knotgrass she'd got from Neville, who had thankfully not asked any questions when she'd visited his office at the Ministry. She'd picked the fluxweed herself, late one night by the light of the full moon, reminded of the timing by Tonks' owl asking her for another batch of Wolfsbane potion for Lupin. The boomslang skin had been harder to get than she'd originally anticipated, but in the end, she'd spied a jar of it in on a high shelf in Hagrid's hut on her most recent visit. He'd cheerfully handed it over without a comment when Hermione asked for it, as he was much more concerned at the time with her opinion of the cauldron cakes he'd just pulled from his old, battered oven.  
  
In retrospect, all this cloak and dagger probably hadn't been strictly necessary, but the anticipation had certainly made the entire process a bit more exciting.  
  
Once she'd gathered the ingredients, the next difficult task ahead of her was to hide a bubbling cauldron stewing lacewing flies from her husband for three weeks. It had seemed impossible when she'd first considered it, but Ron could be charmingly oblivious just at the right times. Though she'd worried over him discovering it, it had remained, unmolested, behind a particularly high stack of books in her library all this time, and her Proximity charm hadn't been tripped once.  
  
In the end, she mused, she thought she probably could have just put a charm on it to make it appear as though it was a bag full of old clothing. If she'd asked Ron to sort through it when he had a moment, that would have guaranteed that he'd leave it alone for several long years.  
  
She heard Ron stirring in bed beside her and she knew what she had to do to set things in motion. She coughed rather pitiably, rolling into a ball on her side, turning away from Ron.  
  
"Wha's matter?" he asked, a trifle incoherently. "All righ', Hermione?"  
  
"Oh, I'm just not feeling well," she said, making sure her voice sounded scratchy and pathetic. "I think I'll go in, all the same. I'm sure I'll feel better later in the day." She began to sit up, slowly, waiting for Ron to protest.  
  
It took him a moment longer than she would have liked, but he reacted just as she'd thought he would.  
  
"Oi! Don't do that," he said, sounding a great deal more awake than before. "You worked yourself sick last time, Hermione. Didn't you learn anything from that trip to St. Mungo's?"  
  
"We could have handled it here," she huffed, rolling her eyes. Honestly, you'd think a bit of exhaustion and dehydration were completely unknown in the wizarding world, the way everyone had reacted to a little fever and listlessness.  
  
"Yeah, well, we were lucky enough not to get killed by Voldemort or the Death Eaters. I'm not going to lose you to some hyder-thing."  
  
"Dehydration, Ron."  
  
"Yeah, that. _You_ ," he said, looming over her with a worried look on his face, "are staying here. I'll Floo Nancy Andy—"  
  
"Ronald! Be nice! He's a very good assistant," she interrupted, this mini-conversation too familiar for her tastes.  
  
"Well, I'll Floo him all the same and tell him you'll not be there today. Then I'm getting you breakfast before I go. Are you feeling well enough for waffles?"  
  
"I don't think I've ever been sick enough to refuse waffles. I think I might have revived early from my Petrification back in our second year if only you'd strolled into the hospital wing with a batch of your waffles."  
  
"Shame I didn't know how to make them yet. Would have saved a lot of trouble." He winked at her, leaving her in the bedroom as he went to make their breakfast.  
  
She stretched out luxuriantly against the lovely, soft cotton of their sheets, tangled as they were from Ron's lively sleeping style. She allowed herself a moment to fantasize about what she hoped would happen tonight, that she could bring some spark of life back to this bed. She stayed there, watching the light play off the ceiling as it filtered through the leaves of the tree outside their bedroom window, until Ron returned with a smirk and a steaming plate of pumpkin waffles covered with rich, dark syrup.  
  
"I brought margarine for you," he said, wrinkling his nose, "though I still don't know how I can watch you ruin them with that. Much better with just the syrup," he said, splitting the waffles onto two plates and offering her the margarine.  
  
Ron spoke animatedly of the day he had ahead, and she laughed as he did impressions of the people he worked with and complained roundly about his head of department. He was so wonderful, so very _Ron_ that she had trouble keeping up her facade of illness until he glanced at the clock and realized he would very soon be late.  
  
With a quick kiss on the cheek, he was out of their bedroom and into their fireplace, on his way to work and leaving her alone to tend to the potion and hope it would make everything right again.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that afternoon she stirred the cauldron, every movement of her wand bringing back memories of their second year. She remembered sitting cross-legged in that deserted, dank room, part of her still wondering if she was truly friends with these two boys or if they merely kept her around for things just like brewing Polyjuice Potion. The looks on their faces when she'd re-emerged from her Petrification convinced her they were, though it was still many years more before she'd let herself believe that one of them might like her a bit differently than the other.  
  
The potion had begun to bubble, grayish-brown and viscous. The air that rose to the surface clearly had to fight the whole way until it escaped from the top, and she began to wonder exactly how she would entice Ron to drink it. He hadn't exactly been keen on it when they were children and she couldn't imagine he'd find it any more palatable now.  
  
A particularly sick-sounding pop of air emerged from the globby surface of the potion and Hermione found her stomach turning just a bit. Was it possible that she would talk him into drinking it and then not be able to do it herself? Her last encounter with it hadn't exactly gone to plan, after all, and she couldn't really say she had fond memories of having a tail and fur.  
  
She shuddered a little and then steeled herself. She hadn't gone through all this time and trouble for nothing. She was just nervous and looking for excuses. She'd drink the blasted potion, and she'd find a way to talk him into it as well. He only had to believe it wasn't Polyjuice Potion for a moment, after all, just long enough to get the vial to his lips. Surely she could cajole him into doing that.  
  
After precisely sixteen more minutes of stirring, she was glad to turn away from it and attempt to put it out of her mind. The surest way to calm her nerves was to concentrate on the familiar, so she headed to the kitchen to get an early start on dinner.  
  
-*-  
  
A flutter of nervousness ran through her when she heard Ron emerge from the Floo with a cough and a quiet, "Hermione, love, are you up?"  
  
"I am," she said, emerging from the kitchen into the lounge, nervously clasping her hands together behind her back. She half-wanted him to notice the outfit she'd put on and the effort she'd put into her hair, but the larger, more self-conscious part of her still didn't know how to react if he did.  
  
 _Be too thick ... be too thick ... Ron, be too thick ... be too—_  
  
"You look nice," he said, sounding a little surprised, which annoyed her. Did he honestly think she was incapable of putting in a little work and smoothing her hair down or that she just couldn't be bothered in general to pay any attention to herself?  
  
"Did you think I forgot how to do it?" she snapped, realizing even as she said it that she was covering her nerves with anger. A glance at Ron's poor, sad face told her she had some work to do.  
  
"No, no. I ... I just thought ... you felt so ill this morning ... " he stammered, looking a bit lost.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said. "I am feeling better, and I really am sorry that I snapped at you. I _am_ glad you think I look nice, thank you."  
  
"It's all right," he said, looking relieved. "Is that your chicken I smell?" he said, letting his stomach take over the conversation in typical Ron fashion. For once, Hermione was glad to have their more serious discussion take a back seat to his appetite.  
  
"Yes, and I assure you, I was well when I prepared it and it is more than safe to eat."  
  
"And you set the table with the nice dishes," he said, peeking into the dining room. He turned, looking stricken. "I've forgotten something, haven't I?" The words began to come from him in a panicked rush. " _That's_ why you were so cross with me. Blimey, Hermione, I'm sorry. I know it's not our anniversary yet, but it must be something, isn't it?"  
  
"It's not a special occasion," she said, wondering if it was in places like this where it all had gone wrong. They'd become too comfortable, stopped talking about the little things and getting excited just to see each other every day. No wonder the excitement was ... well, perhaps not gone, but it had gone missing for a bit. "I just thought it would be nice."  
  
"It is," he grinned. "You're brilliant, have I ever told you that?" he said, kissing her soundly on the forehead.  
  
"So are you," she replied, catching his face in her hands and pulling him down to her lips, where she immediately deepened the kiss. He seemed surprised at first but quickly adjusted, his tongue entering her mouth as she caressed the back of his neck.  
  
 _Definitely on the right track,_ she thought. When she felt his hands slide down her body and cup her bum, she wondered why she hadn't thought of doing this sooner. Just one nice dinner, a little bit of effort on both of their parts, and it was just like those early days of their marriage again.  
  
After a few moments she forced herself to break away, hearing sounds from the skillet on the stove that told her the chicken would burn if she didn't tend to it. Ron protested, his eyes still closed, clawing blindly for her and trying to pull her back to him.  
  
"Ron," she whispered, allowing him one more kiss before she pulled away again, "if you want that chicken unburnt then this will have to wait."  
  
"All right," he said, and she was thrilled to hear the reluctance in his tone. "But it won't wait for long," he said, staring purposefully at her for a long moment, in which she bobbled her wand and nearly dropped it in with the chicken and sauce. Suddenly the kitchen seemed ... warmer. And smaller.  
  
"Let's get this dinner moving, then," he said, clapping his hands together. "What can I do to help?" He grinned at her, looking around the kitchen for something to throw his energy into.  
  
"You could finish the vegetables and take them out to the table. I'll be right behind you with the entree."  
  
"Right," he said, pulling out his wand and whispering, tossing the vegetables around a few times before he pronounced them finished. They were transferred into the serving bowl Hermione had set out and he disappeared into the dining room with it.  
  
She soon followed, finding him lighting the candles and dimming the overhead lights with a few more spells. They sat and ate, talking quietly about all sorts of things, just as they had in the early days of their relationship and marriage. Tonight seemed just a bit different, though, and Hermione wasn't sure if it was merely because she knew what was coming or if the mood was changed just by the table and the outfit she'd put on.  
  
Hermione had often wished that Ron would make a little more effort to be romantic, bringing home flowers or helping her with her chair when they sat down to eat. Now that they were here together, she realized they didn't really need that. What she needed was that look of rapt attention on his face, focused on her. When had they forgotten this? Why had their lives had taken on a routine where they both took the other for granted?  
  
He smiled at her after finishing the last bite of chicken on his plate and her stomach did that little flutter that it used to, years ago, right after they'd both admitted their feelings to each other. She wondered how he felt, and then realized with another little thrill that she'd soon have the opportunity to find out exactly how it felt to be Ron.  
  
"Ron, I ... I brewed something," she said, hearing her nervous, halting tone and wondering how she'd ever get through this if she didn't get her nerve up. "For both of us."  
  
He remained silent, blinking at her a little, then he wrinkled his brow and squinted at her as though he could tell she was up to something.  
  
"It's nothing," she said, pushing away the idea that she was looking him in the eye and boldly lying to him, telling herself that he'd thank her for doing it once he realized what she had planned. "Just something to relax us."  
  
"But we don't need that. We're married," he said, getting up and pulling her into an odd sort of sideways hug, with her shoulder against his chest. She laid her cheek against him and he cradled her head, and she decided the hug wasn't so odd after all. "We can do whatever we want," he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against her ear as he spoke. His hand fell to her breast, cupping it, with his finger playing over her nipple.  
  
Just for a moment, she considered letting the potion molder in the two vials she'd poured it in. Perhaps they didn't need it. Things were going so well, after all.  
  
 _But all that work, and you'll always wonder about it if you don't go through with it. And admit it, Hermione,_ she thought, _you're quite excited by the idea, if you really admit the truth. It really could be quite extraordinary, couldn't it?_  
  
"I've just been so tense lately. I think it would help me, and as long as I'm having some, you may as well join me."  
  
"All right," he said, shrugging. "What is it?"  
  
"It's ... a surprise," she said, relieved to be back in the realm of honesty. "It's not the best-tasting potion, but I think the results will be well worth it. Meet me in the lounge in just a moment."  
  
Ron nodded and kissed the top of her head before releasing her, and she went back to the kitchen to get the vials. She quickly added the hair she'd taken earlier from Ron's hairbrush to her vial, then pulled a hair from her head and put it into Ron's. They nearly bubbled over as she walked back to him, her potion turning a violent red and his changing to a chocolate brown color.  
  
His eyes widened as saw the vials, reluctantly accepting his from her and sniffing it.  
  
"Ugh, Hermione," he protested. "Are you quite sure you want to drink—and is this—?"  
  
She interrupted him by swallowing the first gulp of her potion, jumping in before she could change her mind. She watched through watering eyes as he shrugged and downed the contents of his vial in one long drink, then she finished hers. She looked up just in time to see the look of recognition on his face, just before the choking sensation took her over and she felt the convulsions of her own body's transformation begin.  
  
"Hermione!" he squeaked, his voice already beginning to rise in pitch. "I thought this might be—but I thought you would never have—" He stopped speaking and grabbed his throat, then looked at his hands in disbelief. The skin bubbled and puckered as he began to change.  
  
She shut her eyes, riding out her body's reaction as her arms and legs lengthened, stubble emerged from her chin, and her hair shrank away, leaving Ron's scruffy, longish mop behind. Her clothes ripped and she scolded herself for not anticipating such an obvious side effect. When it was finally over with, everything felt thicker and heavier. She fought the odd urge to hide herself behind her new, large hands, but that was ridiculous. It _was_ his body, after all. Nothing he hadn't seen before.  
  
"Hermione," she heard in her own voice, but with a tone only Ron could convey. It was strange and disorienting. She actually felt a bit dizzy and grabbed for his hand, nearly pulling Ron, now in her body, down to the floor in the process.  
  
When she finally opened her eyes, she saw Ron's characteristic look of shock on her own face. It dizzied her all over again, and she promptly sat, cross-legged and bursting through her clothes, in the middle of their lounge.  
  
"What in bloody hell have you done?" he demanded. "I mean, Hermione, you can't have meant to—"


	4. Chapter 4

"—I did," she answered, feeling guilty for having misled him.  
  
"Why would possibly have done this?" he said, still looking, disbelieving, at his new hands. "These are tiny. How do you ever get anything done with these? And your eyes, blimey. You need glasses, did you know that? All that reading hasn't done you any favors. I can't even read the—"  
  
"We're in each other's bodies and that's all you can find to talk about?" Hermione shrieked, thinking angrily of the weeks of work she'd put into brewing the potion. Somehow she'd always imagined Ron adjusting quickly after realizing what had happened and then pouncing on her, impossibly turned on. The reality, well, it was quite a bit different, wasn't it?  
  
"I ... I just don't have a clue why you would have—"  
  
"—you gave me the idea, all right?" she said, annoyed to have to sound like him when she was growing more angry by the moment. She knew it was irrational. She really should have expected him to at least be confused, but she truly just wanted to throttle him for not putting two and two together on his own.  
  
"I may not be the most clever person, but I would think I'd remember suggesting to you that we _switch bodies_ ," he said, pulling her hair out and examining it. "This stuff is weird. It's heavy! How do you ever—"  
  
"Will you shut it about my hair?" she answered, hiding her face—Ron's face, actually—in her—his—hands. She moaned, just wanting to hide for an hour until it was all over, hoping Ron would have the decency to never bring it up again.  
  
"Hey," he said, pulling her hands away and forcing her to look ... ugh, into her own face. She still felt a bit sick at the displacement. "Listen, will you just talk to me? Why did you do this? You can tell me."  
  
"I feel so ridiculous," she moaned, feeling humiliatingly close to tears. "You said ... before ... once ... when we were ... you know ... " she stammered, trailing off when she was unable to continue.  
  
"Shagging?" he supplied, and something about hearing him say that with her voice just made her want to cry.  
  
"Yes," she whispered, trying to soldier on before she lost her strength entirely. "You said that you wanted to know how it felt for me. You went on and on. You seemed so curious, and it made me curious about you, as well. Then it occurred to me that we _could_ switch. We are _magical_ , after all," she said, smiling and thinking back many years to a tussle with an unruly bit of Devil's Snare.  
  
"Oh, Hermione," he said, chuckling a little. It made her want to smack him, really, but she knew that something within her would never allow her to hit her own face, no matter who was wearing it. "You didn't have to—I mean, you _really_ didn't have to."  
  
"We'll forget about it," she said quickly, trying to get up but falling back, ungainly, when she failed to use Ron's body correctly to balance his weight. "We'll just wait the hour out— _separately_ —and then we'll never speak of it again. All right?"  
  
She tried to get up again but stopped when he caught her arm as she tried to lever away from the ground.  
  
"Wait, not so fast. I can't say that I saw this coming, but now that it's done ... well ... I reckon we should take advantage of it."  
  
She looked at him, one of his grins taking over the features of her face. "Do you really think—"  
  
"Yes," he said, decisively. "Come on," he said, trying to get up and tripping on a bit of his larger clothes as they hung off her smaller form. "We're both a mess in these clothes. Let's go get them off," he added as he successfully got to his feet, waggling his eyebrows at her.  
  
"All right," she agreed, finally feeling a bit better about how things were going.  
  
They tripped their way to the bedroom, both of them laughing and leaning on each other as they went.  
  
 _This can still be fun,_ she told herself, shoving away any lingering misgivings and pulling Ron's clothes off of him as they walked. She leaned down to kiss him, telling herself to close her eyes, but she just couldn't tear her eyes off her own face as it got closer and closer.  
  
"It's strange, isn't it?" he said, laughing nervously as he appeared to be eying his own face as well.  
  
"It is," she agreed, wondering why she hadn't thought through anything past the moment the potion was completed.  
  
"Right," he said. "We just have to do it." He closed his eyes resolutely and seemed to be waiting for her to do the rest.  
  
She took a deep breath and closed the gap, inhaling with surprise at how different the kiss felt from this side. Ron must have felt the same, because she could feel the tension in his lips and he seemed to be fighting the same urge to pull back that she was wrestling with.  
  
To distract herself, she began to peel her tattered clothing away from herself, shifting Ron's long limbs inexpertly as she tried to remove sleeves and unbutton the few buttons that hadn't merely popped off during her transformation. She finally found a measure of success and was standing, freezing, completely starkers in the middle of their bedroom.  
  
Ron seemed to take this as a cue, because he pulled away and quickly followed suit, moving with such speed that she could only assume that he was still proceeding on sheer nerve.  
  
They stood awkwardly in the center of the room, kissing in a way Hermione could only describe as 'half-heartedly' and both apparently waiting for the other to move things along.  
  
Hermione tugged at Ron's hand and led him to the bed, deciding again to steel her resolve and plunge ahead into the unknown. This had been her idea, after all, and if someone had to take a chance here and there, it really seemed that it should be her to do it.  
  
She maneuvered Ron a bit until his back was facing the bed and his legs were flush with the mattress. Then, thinking of the many times Ron had joyously tackled her and absolutely ravished her during their first year of marriage, she pushed him backward onto the bed, landing on top of him.  
  
"Ow!" he protested. "Blimey, Hermione, but you're a bit fragile, aren't you?"  
  
"I'm not," she said, rather incensed at his insinuation that she was no more than an easily-broken female.  
  
"You're heavy," he whined. "I can hardly breathe."  
  
She bit back the many nasty retorts that came to mind and instead, tried to shift around to relieve the pressure. She was rewarded with several more complaints before she gave up and rolled to her back, staring at the ceiling and wondering if either of them would survive the hour until things were back to normal.  
  
"It was just your elbow," Ron explained. "It's really very bony, which is odd, considering how heavy the rest of my body is."  
  
"This ... is a disaster," she pronounced. "We should wait the hour out."  
  
"No," Ron said. "I've never known you to give up so easily." Her own face appeared above her, filled with concern. "We should try again."  
  
"I don't know what good it would—"  
  
He cut her off with a kiss, a sound of muffled surprise escaping from her. He didn't seem to be as hesitant as before, and she loved him just a little bit more for committing to this, apparently just to make her feel better about this insane plan of hers.  
  
Though, it wasn't bad, really. The kiss was warm and he was so strangely smooth against her hands. A gentle weight on her chest felt nice, a lot like the way Ron did in his own body when he was being careful with her. She'd never appreciated how difficult it must be to hover over her body without smothering her until she'd tried it herself, from his perspective.  
  
A familiar white noise filled her thoughts as her body began to feel warm. In her own body, if they'd been kissing this way, she'd have felt more and more languid, melting into him and savoring the feel of his harder body against hers. This wasn't the case at all from inside Ron's body. Every inch of him seemed to be tensing, muscles twitching as his hands ran over her arms and chest.  
  
"Seems you've learned how to use my body," he said, smirking at her a bit until she caught on. She looked down and ... my goodness. How did he ever do anything with that in the way? She fought the odd desire to ask him how he ever sat astride a broom with this to deal with, but somehow, she knew it would absolutely murder the already tenuous mood they'd forged.  
  
Ron straddled her and Hermione jumped when his—her own, really—breasts brushed against her chest. She brought shaking hands to them and wondered at the strangeness of touching her own body but being unable to feel it.  
  
"Is this all right?" she asked, when she saw his tightly-closed eyes.  
  
"I seem to remember asking you the same question, once upon a time," he said, smiling down at her, and they both laughed.  
  
"So you did," she agreed, and he lowered his body to hers and kissed her again. She was feeling so remarkably wonderful, so full of energy and potential. There was a need building, she could sense it coming, and the power of just the first suggestion of it threatened to overcome her.  
  
"It's so different," he said, as though he could read her mind.  
  
She nodded, and he brought his forehead to hers. "I was just thinking the same thing."  
  
They kissed again and Hermione felt him shift over her.  
  
"How do you balance like this?" he said under his breath, and she giggled a bit again, against his lips.  
  
"You might not be able to stay here, close to me. It's easier to balance if you sit up," she told him.  
  
He did, pushing away from her and wobbling a bit as he hovered just over her. Hermione tried to shift her hips but found that managing Ron's anatomy was much more difficult than she'd thought. She was always secretly amused when he had trouble finding his way to her, but she'd just gained a new appreciation for his situation.  
  
"Maybe ... you could help?" Hermione suggested, then suddenly noticed a very serious look on Ron's face.  
  
"This is weird," he said, sounding just a bit panicked.  
  
"Well, yes," she said, thinking with what little clarity she had left that 'weird' really didn't begin to sum this up.  
  
"No, I mean, this. You're so small. And _that_ is going to—" he broke off, shuddering.  
  
Hermione suddenly understood, having once gone through the same moment of panic that he was feeling now. The first time she and Ron had been together, she'd looked at him once he'd taken his clothes off and nearly fainted at the idea that he was going to try to put ... that ... inside her body.  
  
"We've done this before," she reminded him. "I assure you, Ron. Everything ... fits."  
  
He nodded, looking pale, but resolute. He sat up straighter, trying to align their bodies several times before finding the right angle for his hips. He braced his hands on her shoulders and closed his eyes, still looking a bit frightened and grim at what was to come. She hoped she hadn't worn a look like that when they'd had sex the first time, but now that she could feel the energy that coursed through Ron's body at this moment, she doubted he'd ever have noticed her trepidation that night, all those years ago.  
  
"It's all right," she whispered, putting her hands lightly on his bum and urging him downward. She needed to know what it felt like, to have this incredibly sensitive expanse of skin and muscle embedded inside another body, wondering with a thrill what it would feel like to slide skin against skin in such a shockingly intimate way. The urge to thrust upward was almost overwhelming, controlled only by a strict mental grip on that impulse.


	5. Chapter 5

"It's no good," Ron said suddenly, pulling back and turning his face away from hers. "I can't do it."  
  
"Ron, you'll be fine," she soothed, running a hand over his cheek and trying to get him to look at her again.  
  
"I'm sure I would be, but I just can't do it. It's too strange. I'm sorry."  
  
Her body cried out with pain at the idea that all this need would have no way to release, but Ron seemed very upset and that was much more important than this one moment, among the many they'd shared before.  
  
"I know. I remember how frightened I was," she told him.  
  
"I don't know how you did it," he said, looking at her with a measure of awe. "And it hurt too, that first time, didn't it? How did you ever let me in that way? The invasion ... I just can't imagine it."  
  
"It wasn't an _invasion_. We weren't fighting a war. It was lovely," she said, looking purposefully into his eyes. "Or don't you remember?"  
  
"What? All forty-five seconds of it?" he said, grinning just a little.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to give it another try?" she asked, but he shook his head immediately and she knew from the look on his face that there was no changing his mind.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" he said, sounding quite hesitant.  
  
"Ron, we're in bed with no clothes on, each of us trapped in the other's body. I'm not sure anything is out of bounds at this point."  
  
"Why did you do it? Brew the potion, I mean," he said, not sounding accusatory, but truly curious.  
  
"I told you," she said. "I thought you wanted this, from what you said before. I thought you wanted to know what it felt like for me. And it didn't sound so horrible to me, either."  
  
"I know that's what you said before, but it was ages ago that I said that. Why did you think about it again now?"  
  
Hermione turned away, pulling her arms protectively around herself.  
  
"Hermione ... you can tell me. You're obviously upset."  
  
"I thought ... you were bored with me. I was just trying to make things more interesting."  
  
There was a long silence, during which Hermione reconsidered every theory she had to explain the cooling off of their sex life. Did he want a divorce? Was he tired of her? Was there someone else?  
  
"Bored?" he said, sounding truly flummoxed.  
  
"Well, yes," she said, feeling worse with every word that she choked out. It took one sort of courage to go through with a crazy plan like this, but it took a much rarer breed of courage to begin the conversation she knew they had to have. "It's been quite ... routine ... recently. You've been tired a lot, I know, but it just seems like you don't have much interest in me anymore," she said, trying not to cry.  
  
"Hermione," he breathed, pulling her still-larger body awkwardly into his arms, stubbornly holding her as he would have if they were in their proper forms. "That's not it at all. I've just thought you didn't ... well ... I didn't think _you_ were all that interested in ... things. I felt as though it was my idea all the time, and that you didn't really ... sounds like we were both keen, though, and just didn't say anything to each other." He laughed, and though Hermione didn't want to laugh at first, she soon joined in along with him. It was a bit funny, in an ironic sort of way.  
  
"How did this happen?" she asked, expecting no answer in particular. Ron shrugged behind her and squeezed her more tightly. "We both thought the other didn't want to ... but we did, I suppose ... isn't that what this means? We just stopped talking."  
  
"Who would have ever believed, after watching us row like gladiators back in school, that we'd ever get into a fix like this?"  
  
"We're not those children anymore, Ron. And I do remember that we had a misunderstanding or two back then. I thought we'd grown out of that, though. Like that terrible row we had the night of the Yule Ball."  
  
"But we'd be better off screaming at each other than having this silence, yeah? There was a bit of truth in that fight ... you admitted how much you'd wanted me to ask you to the ball, for instance," he said, not quite able to keep the smirk off his face.  
  
She clapped him on the shoulder in mock anger and the two of them laughed again. Ron might fancy himself thick, Hermione mused, but he had a way of drawing rather remarkable conclusions when he put his mind to it. Anything was better than jumping to conclusions without talking to one another first.  
  
"We'll never do this again," Hermione resolved, turning to look at him, to convey how much she meant what she was saying.  
  
"If you mean that I'll never let you rook me into taking Polyjuice Potion again, then you're right."  
  
"Ron," she said, exasperated. "I meant that—"  
  
"I know what you meant," he said softly against her ear. "I love you, Hermione. I love you more when you're in your proper body, mind," he added, and she could feel his lips curving into a smile. "Let's just wait this out and put our new inside knowledge to good use."  
  
They talked easily, holding the sheet up over themselves like a tent. They laughed and told stories, just as they had on their wedding night, once they'd finally become to exhausted to move. Hermione was surprised at how quickly the remainder of the hour passed before she felt the effects of the potion coming to an end. Their change back into their proper bodies wasn't nearly as horrible as the original transformation had been, as though they were both welcoming it with open arms. It might have been the most wonderful moment of Hermione's life so far, when she felt the prickle of Ron's stubble-covered chin against her forehead again.  
  
"You know I love you," Ron said, as he looked down at her in the darkness of the room. "I don't need you to be anything else, and I don't need to know anything else. I just want to feel you around me and know how right we are together."  
  
"If we ever have a misunderstanding like this again, I'm hexing us both," she added.  
  
"Right," he agreed, pulling her into the most blessedly normal kiss they'd ever shared.  
  
His hands brushed over her breasts and she twitched in anticipation. "Your body gets so tense," she whispered. "Like a coiled spring."  
  
"Didn't you know already what you do to me?"  
  
She couldn't answer, arching against him as he applied pressure to one hardening nipple with two fingers.  
  
"I can't wait," she whispered. "I can still feel all of your impatience," she said, wickedly.  
  
He rolled her to her back and settled on top of her and she wondered at the difficulty of such a maneuver. She hadn't known where to put her legs or how to shift her weight when she'd been inside his body. She glanced to the side to see his slim, but toned bicep bulge under the strain of holding himself up.  
  
"That's harder than it looks," she acknowledged, pushing her hips into him. "That might be the sexiest thing I've ever seen," she added, feeling emboldened. Even during their first year of marriage when they'd made love nearly every day, she'd never before felt so free to tell him what she was feeling. It made her heart race and she was still afraid of sounding silly to him, but his reaction seemed to be anything but amusement.  
  
"Say it again," he said, thrusting against her and pushing her into the mattress under his weight.  
  
"You are the sexiest thing I have ever seen," she said, looking into his eyes and finding nothing but love and acceptance there.  
  
"Then you have no idea what you look like right now," he told her, and she felt like the most beautiful creature in the world.  
  
She felt him easing inside her, and she could swear he was being much more gentle than he'd ever been before. She pulled back to smile at him a bit and he smiled back, an expression that admitted his newfound appreciation for her.  
  
"You're fine, Ron. You're not hurting me."  
  
He finished that first thrust, punctuating it with a sudden intensity that stole her breath. He rotated his hips before pulling away, and she whispered something that came to her so quickly that she honestly couldn't recall what she'd said as soon as the words passed from her lips.  
  
"Fuck, Hermione," he swore, driving into her again as he leaned down and kissed her, his tongue immediately invading her mouth.  
  
She pushed against him, finding the friction she needed as their bodies moved against each other. His thrusts became slower, staying inside her and pushing hard, just as she needed.  
  
"Is this ... do you need ... " he said, apparently unable to complete his thought.  
  
"It is," she said, also unequal to the task of finding words to convey everything she wished she could say. "I love you," she said, hoping that would tell him what he needed to know.  
  
"I love _you_ ," he said, moving faster and using one arm to brace her hip higher off the mattress, changing the angle of their bodies as they moved.  
  
So many thoughts raced through her head as she watched him move over her. "Please, Ron," she begged, as though he was purposefully withholding something from her that she needed. He slowed for a few thrusts, making her whimper at losing the intensity of his quicker pace. "Please," she asked again, and she saw in his face the moment that her pleading broke him.  
  
His hand released her hip and snaked between them, playing over her just above where they were joined, and she threw her head back into the twisted sheets beneath her. She felt as though she would burn up, like there was a pressure inside her she couldn't possibly survive, until it gave way, leaving an intense brightness exploding within her. She felt Ron react to her body as it contracted around him, suffusing her with his warmth with a few more strong thrusts before he relaxed against her, cradling her head gently against his shoulder.  
  
"We'll never do this again," she said, as soon as words returned to her.  
  
Ron pulled back and looked at her in mock alarm. "Now, if you'd told me that was the last time we were going to do that, I would have made it last a bit longer."  
  
"You know what I mean," she said, whacking him lightly on the shoulder with the back of her hand. "We'll never get into a rut like that again."  
  
"No, we won't," he agreed, yawning widely as he spoke.  
  
"You're tired," she said, observing the obvious. "Go to sleep."  
  
"All right," he said, tiredly. "You too," he slurred, lapsing quickly into a quiet snore that she knew would soon be not very quiet at all.  
  
"I will," she whispered. "As soon as I finish convincing myself never to buy a single lacewing fly again."


End file.
